Finally, Janie sets a rock in the suitcase. It shrinks to the size of a pebble.
Janie slowly, methodically, picks up all the rocks and puts them in the suitcase. The task seems endless. Finally, she picks up the last one, “ISOLATE.” Sets it down with the others. It becomes a pebble, and all the other pebbles disappear.
Janie stares at the suitcase. Knows what she has to do.
She closes it.
Picks it up.
And walks out.
FRIDAY
August 4, 2006, 9:15 a.m.
Janie lies awake, staring at the ceiling. Thinking about everything. About this one more thing. The green notebook, the hearing, the gossip, college, her mother, and now this guy Henry. What’s next? It’s too much already. A familiar wave of panic washes over her, captures her chest and squeezes it. Hard. Harder. Janie gulps for air and she can’t get enough. She rolls to her side in a ball.
“Chill,” she says, gasping. “Just chill the fuck out.”
It’s all too much.
She covers her mouth and nose with her hands, breathes into them, in and out, until she can get a good breath. She makes her mind go blank.
Focuses.
Breathes.
Just breathes.
9:29 a.m.
The door to Janie’s mother’s room remains closed.
Janie wanders aimlessly around the little house, wondering what the hell she’s supposed to do about Henry. She nibbles on a granola bar, sweating. It’s a scorcher already. She flips on the oscillating fan in the living room and props open the front door, begging for a breeze, and then she plops down on the couch.
Through the ripped screen door Janie sees Cabel pulling into the driveway, and her heart sinks. He hops out of the car and takes long, smooth strides to the front door. Lets himself in, as usual. He stops and lets his eyes adjust.
Smiles a crooked smile. “Hey,” he says.
She pats the worn couch cushion next to her. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” she says as Cabel leans in. “Your nose is peeling.”
“Don’t care, and don’t care.” Cabel leans in and kisses her. Then he plops down on the couch. “You okay that I’m here . . . and stuff?” he asks.
“Yeah.” Janie slides her hand on his thigh and squeezes. “Last night . . . I just didn’t know what to expect. I wasn’t sure about my mom, you know? Wasn’t sure what she’d do.”
“What did she do?” He looks around nervously.
“Not much. She was a little obnoxious. Not impossible. But she didn’t say a word about Henry and I didn’t dare ask. God, she can’t even go twelve hours without a drink. And if she doesn’t have one, she gets mean.” Janie drops her chin. “It’s embarrassing, you know?”
“My dad was like that too. Only he was mean with or without. At least he was consistent.” Cabel grins wryly.
Janie snorts. “I guess I’m lucky.” She glances sidelong at Cabel.
Considers.
Finally says, “Did you ever wish your dad was dead? I mean, before he hurt you? Just so you could, like, not have to deal with him anymore?”
Cabel narrows his eyes. “Every. Damn. Day.”
Janie bites her lip. “So, are you glad he died in jail?”
Cabel is quiet for a long time. Then he shrugs. When he speaks, his voice is measured, almost clinical, as if he is talking to a shrink. “It was the best possible outcome, under the circumstances.”
The fan blows a knee-level path from the TV to the coffee table, catching the two pairs of bare legs on the couch in the middle of its run. Janie shivers slightly when the air hits her sweat-dampened skin. She thinks of Henry Feingold, the stranger, presumably her father. Dying. And for the third time in twenty-four hours, Janie wishes it were someone else.
She leans her head against Cabel’s shoulder and slips her arm behind his. He turns, slides her onto his lap, and they hold on tightly to each other.
Because there’s no one else.
She’s so conflicted.
Janie imagines life without people. Without him. Broken heart, loneliness, but able to see, to feel. To live. To be, in peace. Not always looking over her shoulder for the next dream attack.
And she imagines life with him. Blind, gnarled, but loved . . . at least while things are still good. And always knowing what struggles he’s dealing with through his dreams. Does she really want to see that, as years go by? Does she really want to be this incredible burden to such an awesome guy?
She still doesn’t know which scenario wins.
But she’s thinking.
Maybe broken hearts can mend more easily than broken hands and eyes.
9:41 a.m.
It’s too hot to sit like that for long.
Cabe stretches. “You going to wake her up? Head down to the hospital again?”
“God, I hope not.”
“Janie.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“At least it’s air-conditioned there.”
“So’s your car. Wanna go make out in the driveway instead?”
Cabel laughs. “Maybe after dark. In fact, hell yes, after dark. But seriously, Janie. I think you need to talk to your mom.”
Janie sighs and rolls her eyes. “I suppose.”
9:49 a.m.
She taps softly on her mother’s bedroom door.
Glances at Cabel.
To Janie, this room doesn’t feel like a part of the house. It’s more just a door to another world, a portal to sorrow, from which Dorothea appears and disappears at random. Rarely does she even catch a glimpse inside unless her mother is coming or going.